


horizons are never far

by faikitty



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Gender-Neutral Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Other, Reader-Insert, Tenderness, it's certainly not fluff but it IS very soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:00:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24811957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faikitty/pseuds/faikitty
Summary: Despite Lucifer's promise, he doesn't keep you up until dawn.
Relationships: Lucifer/Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 229





	horizons are never far

**Author's Note:**

> spoilers for lesson 20-14.
> 
> title taken from "Time To Say Goodbye" by Lauren Aquilina. listen to it and join me in crying if you'd like.

Despite Lucifer’s promise, he doesn’t keep you up until dawn.

It isn’t for lack of trying. His hands are on you from the moment you kiss him, and they don’t leave you for a single second. There is a sense of hunger in his touch that seems to surpass simple lust; there is a neediness to it and something akin to _greed_ , as if he has stolen his brother’s sin for a night. His fingers hook over your waistband, his other hand tugging at your hair, and when you close your eyes and part your lips for him, you hear the desire rumble free from his throat.

It feels strange, to be _needed_ by a man like Lucifer. It feels _good_.

The two of you barely make it inside his room before you find yourself shoved up against the wall. His shirt is already unbuttoned, his gloves tossed carelessly to the floor, and as he uses a single claw to tear open your shirt in his haste to feel your skin against his own, the still conscious part of your brain wonders distantly how long he’s wanted this, for him to be so impatient. You almost laugh; you really _should_ have done this sooner. Then he touches you, and the sound that leaves you melts into a moan. He kisses you like a man starved, bites your lip so hard you gasp at the shock of pain, and he takes it as permission to do it again.

He should; it is.

When he finally lays you on his bed, he pauses for the first and only time that night. One hand still lingers on your waist as he pulls back long enough to ask—to state—his low voice raw, “You want this.”

You gaze up at him. Take in the flush to his cheeks and the gleaming dark of his eyes, his pupils blown so wide with desire that his irises are more black than red. Still, he waits, until you answer him. “Yes.”

 _Yes_.

Lucifer is not gentle with you, nor do you want him to be. Each bruise he leaves with his teeth feels like a mark of ownership, each scratch from his claws a hot iron brand. You leave marks of your own in return; when you drag your nails down his back he gives a startled hiss, the noise far more pleased than complaintive. You press kisses to his jaw and the crook of his neck, nipping at the sensitive skin to feel him jerk against you. You stake your claim on him, just as he does on you. When you go home in the morning (are you really going _home_?), the marks will serve as reminders that you belong together— _to_ each other—for days to come.

Lucifer is not gentle. Yet there is a certain tenderness to the way he holds you flush against him. He kisses you as if in adoration, brushes a thumb over your cheek to soothe you when the sensations become too much, and the only time his darkened gaze leaves your face, it is to take in the rest of your body. He runs his hands over every curve like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you, committing every sound you make to memory.

When his eyes flick back to your face, something more than simple want lies in their depths. Something you can’t identify. It is a sadness, almost, and it makes you want to ask him if he’s okay. But he kisses you before you can speak, and you lose track of your worried thoughts in the heat of his mouth.

* * *

Afterwards, Lucifer simply holds you.

It’s what you asked him to do, when he realized you didn’t have the stamina of a demon and couldn’t have sex until morning after all. He was kinder to you than you were expecting; his touch, rough before, turned soft at once when you told him you had to stop. Even now, his hands have not left you. One traces small circles on your back, the other threading lightly through your hair. His wings, too, are spread wide to cradle you in against him. The comfort of it all is nearly enough to make you fall asleep as you rest your head on his chest. But you don’t want to sleep. You want to stay awake and relish the short time you have left together. Without the sun, you can’t tell if it is five minutes until daybreak or five hours, so you use the tightness of Lucifer’s embrace as a measurement. The stronger his hold, the closer to morning.

Lucifer is dreading the morning too. If you could see into his heart, you would know that—although you might not _find_ his heart, if you went looking; his chest feels empty, hollow and aching. There is a weight to grief, and that is what this feeling is, is it not? It settles heavy in his chest, constricts his throat as it pushes upwards, but he swallows it down as he has always done. He takes in the sight of you—the curve of your cheek in the pale moonlight, the shadow of your lashes on your skin, the way you hold him close. He is realizing that he needs you. He is wondering if you need him too. He regrets it—not this night, but all the ones before it. If he had known you shared his feelings (you do share them, right?), he would have done this a long time ago. Now, you are going to leave him. He doesn’t know if he will ever see you again.

But you can’t see into his heart, so you know only this: his black wings, the wings of a _demon_ , are comforting and soft, far warmer than any blanket as he folds them in around you; his lips are gentle as they touch the top of your head, his laugh quiet when you give a sleepy noise of contentment; and in the rhythmic beating of his heart, you hear his earlier words echo.

“ _Mine, mine, mine_.”

You lay in his arms. You listen to his heartbeat, and you fight sleep for as long as you can. But although you have won against many things during your stay in the Devildom, you cannot win against the exhaustion in your veins. You are _tired_. Emotionally. Physically. So at last, when the heaviness in your body finally overtakes you, you allow yourself to give in and relax against Lucifer.

This is how you will remember him. Not as the demon who once attacked you. Not as the person who treated you coldly as if you were a threat. You will remember him as the man who held out on showing you affection until you offered it to him first, who waited until he was granted permission to touch you, who held you in his arms and covered you with his wings as if to protect you from the outside world.

As you finally drift off, curled up against him, you expect his heartbeat and the steadiness of his breathing to be the last thing you hear. But instead, just before sleep overtakes you, you hear him speak, so softly you think you might already be dreaming.

“I don’t want you to leave me.”

You don’t think you were meant to hear it. You aren’t even certain that you did. So you don’t respond. You simply let yourself rest and tell yourself firmly that you will come back to him one day. You swear it.

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to The Three Cracketeers for influencing this fic so heavily. writing this hurt me. I don't regret it.


End file.
